


The Lovers and the Eyes of God

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [21]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drunken Flirting, Female Presenting Beelzebub, First Kiss, Flirting, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Ineffable Bureaucracy, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Japan, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Other, Past Torture, Rated For Violence, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25507216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: Aziraphale dreams of his time in Eden and his cruel master. He's awoken by laughter, and finds his ex-boss (highly inebriated) chasing Crowley's ex-boss around a fountain. Aziraphale watches as Gabriel attempts to catch a fly.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Beelzebub (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Dagon, Aziraphale & Raphael (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	The Lovers and the Eyes of God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jenael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenael/gifts).



> CW: gore, bugs (well, one fly), torture
> 
> Continuation of the Crown and Coins series.
> 
> If I missed anything, let me know.

Aziraphale didn’t remember falling asleep.

He could feel the sunlight on his shoulders, and could smell the old oak tree that they worked beneath. Not far away, he could hear the waterfall and the birds chirping. A fly buzzed past his ear, and he followed its path.

It landed on Dagiel, who didn’t move to brush it away. Aziraphale watched it walk over her bloody flesh, pause, and then continue. It left little footprints in the blood.

Dagiel was a beautiful angel, in Aziraphale's opinion. The colors of autumn blazed in her corporation. (The angels knew what autumn was, even if they had not yet seen it.) Her auburn hair was pulled back, but Aziraphale had seen it loose, hanging over her creamy shoulders. He’d heard her laughter, seen the soft golden-brown of her eyes light up in the morning sun.

Aziraphale watched the fly, because it kept him from watching Dagiel. She was not so beautiful now, in the arms of their master.

He could smell her. Dagiel, chest opened, draped over Raphael. Their master was pointing out the lymphatic system in her chest, and Aziraphale pretended interest.

The air stank of Dagiel’s blood. He hated to admit how good it smelled, but Aziraphale was hungry. He was always hungry.

He wanted to be at the Eastern Gate--cutting fruit, spearing it onto his sword, and letting the flames grill it for him. He wanted to be by the waterfall, plucking the berries that grew there.

He wanted to be anywhere but in this clearing, in the shade of an oak tree, watching Dagiel suffer under Raphael’s hands. She opened and closed her mouth, gaping like her fish, if you cast them from their water.

There had been seven of them, in the beginning. Seven students. Five had Fallen, to the flames and darkness of Hell. Only the two remained, and Aziraphale could sense that the other angel was faltering.

She cried out, weakly, and Raphael stopped his droning lecture on the importance of a healthy lymphatic system.

The pain must have been unbearable.

“Dagiel,” Raphael commanded. “Focus.”

“I am, you great prick,” Dagiel said.

She’d been shy and retiring before, but...

Raphael cuffed her head, and continued his work. “Pathetic, pathetic is what you are. Now, focus. Can you feel this?”

“Of course, I can bloody feel that, you fucker,” she spat.

“With an attitude like that, you’re going to end up in Hell, mark my words,” Raphael intoned, gravely.

“Hell couldn’t possibly be worse than you,” Dagiel said. She stood up and closed her own flesh.

“What are you doing?”

“Use your own body for demonstration, you coward,” she said. “I’m done with you. My fish need me.”

And she grabbed up her robes and stormed off.

“That one’s for the fires,” Raphael said. And then, to no one in particular, he said, “Oh, Remiel...how I miss you.”

Aziraphale was not feeling brave, but the idea of asking a question that was out-of-place appealed to him more than finding himself under Raphael’s hands.

“Master,” Aziraphale began. Raphael turned his cold, imperious gaze on Aziraphale, and Aziraphale nearly flinched. “Why...why did Remiel Fall?”

“My Remiel was an innocent. Lucifer required a healer, and it was decided by the toss of a coin which of us would attend to Hell,” Raphael said. “Yet, now, they are a demon. Sweet Remiel shall never return to me. I’ll never hear their songs again, and I was left with the seven of you--all pathetic imitations of their greatness. You being the one with the least promise. And yet, you are an angel and Remiel is a demon.” He sighed. “The very worst thing you can become is a demon, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And yet, all but one of your fellows has Fallen. And Dagiel is dangling by a spider’s thread.”

Raphael looked Aziraphale up and down. Aziraphale did not like his looks, and liked his hands less. But with Dagiel gone...

“When Dagiel Falls, that would leave me with...you.” Raphael completed Aziraphale’s thought.

Aziraphale tried not to show his abject terror. He tried to look attentive, alert, and ready to learn.

“Come to me, Aziraphale.”

He obeyed, and Raphael’s slim fingers fell on him. He lifted his chin, and peered deep into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“You have your Mother’s eyes,” he said.

“As you say, master,” Aziraphale replied.

Raphael was the angel closest to God. He knew the color of Her eyes, something that no other angel knew.

“Unfortunately, you’ve never managed to heal anything more demanding than a broken bone, and you can barely bring the lesser creatures back to life after they’ve perished.” Raphael frowned. “Whatever shall we do with you, Aziraphale?”

“As it pleases my master,” Aziraphale replied.

It was the only reply he could make.

And Raphael smiled. A genuine smile. He was beautiful in his smiles, rare as an eclipse.

“You might have yet retained enough of your Mother to be useful to me,” he said, and his hand slithered to hold Aziraphale’s cheek. “Let’s get you out of these robes and begin.”

~*~

The laughter woke him. Tinkling, melodic laughter. Familiar laughter.

Aziraphale felt his blood turn to icewater.

Crowley was deep in his snakey-coma-sleep. Aziraphale shifted him, gently, from his chest to the pillows. He didn’t stir.

Aziraphale slipped from the bed and padded to the window. He raised the shade a few centimeters and peeked out.

Prince Beelzebub was standing beside the fountain in the center of the pavilion, and Aziraphale could see (even in the weak light of moon and stars and flickering lanterns) that they were flushed. Gabriel was a quarter turn around the fountain from them. The Prince seated themself on the lip of the fountain and began dragging their fingers along the surface of the water. Gabriel still had the parasol.

He was humming.

It was “The Ride of the Valkyries.”

Just the first two bars. Four times. As he pursued.

Aziraphale used a miracle to enhance his hearing and sight. He wanted to know what these two were playing at.

When Gabriel got close, the Prince stood up daintily and fled. Not far, just around the fountain. Just a quarter turn.

“Too many, too many,” Prince Beelzebub laughed. “There’s only three ‘da-duh da-da dum-dums’.”

“I didn’t catch you, yet,” Gabriel said, as if that explained his Valkyrie flub.

Prince Beelzebub laughed. “You’re too drunk.”

They both sounded too drunk.

“There are people here trying to sleep,” Beelzebub said.

“Nah...those fireworks ended like fifteen minutes ago. Nobody’s asleep.”

He was up and moving faster, more certain. But Prince Beelzebub was faster.

The Prince was laughing, but they stayed a quarter turn away. Aziraphale felt his fury rise up in his throat. The cheek of the two of them. Flirting around a fountain.

He’d been put to the fires of Hell for less.

“Beez, Beez,” Gabriel said. “What are these fish?” He dropped a finger into the fountain. “Nice fishy...”

“They’re koi,” Prince Beelzebub said.

“Ow, fuck!” Gabriel exclaimed. “It bit me!”

He held his finger to his chest and Prince Beelzebub chuckled.

“They’re goldfish. They don’t have any teeth!” Yet, they stepped to Gabriel. “Let me see. They nibble, but I promise you, they don’t bite.”

Prince Beelzebub reached for Gabriel’s hand, and he had them by the wrist. He whirled them around, and they tottered, unsteady on their high _okobo_ sandals. They fell backwards, and he dropped the big umbrella to wrap an arm around their waist.

In the moonlight, as a puff of chilly night breeze swirled the cherry petals around them, they appeared in tableau. The suitor and the damsel. He held one arm aloft, and had them tight around the waist.

Aziraphale gasped. The need that poured off of Gabriel, the dark-tinged joy of holding Prince Beelzebub and being so near to what he wanted, it was suffocating.

Aziraphale would never have guessed that Gabriel was capable of the depth of that emotion. The power of it.

The Prince’s eyes flicked over the sleeping windows of the shrine-cum-Air BnB, and (against all odds) landed on Aziraphale’s. Their face showed their recognition. The round “o” of their mouth, the surprise in their blue eyes.

It was gone as soon as it appeared. Their surprise, and (Aziraphale realized) their fear. They were afraid...not of him, but for him?

“I got you,” Gabriel said, lowering his lips to their ear.

“You _tricked_ me,” they corrected.

Yet their free hand drifted up to his face, holding him close to them.

“Still got you,” he replied.

“Bound to happen once in six thousand years,” they said. “You know, you shouldn’t use my compassion against me.”

He turned his face and kissed their hand. In any other circumstance, Aziraphale felt certain that they would pull away from him, but they did not.

They were keeping Gabriel’s eyes off of him; Aziraphale knew it in the bones of his wings.

Their own eyes half-closed, heavy-lidded. They flushed, and Aziraphale did not believe that they were acting.

Something about Prince Beelzebub’s expression, so tender as they stroked Gabriel’s cheek. As he turned and kissed the palm of their hand. There was something so familiar to Aziraphale, to see someone else that torn between fearing and wanting.

And resignation. He felt certain that they were planning on offering themselves as a distraction. The little Prince was giving Aziraphale and Crowley a chance to get away.

It was not time to move yet, but it would be soon. Aziraphale watched and waited.

He thought about what Crowley had said. That Prince Beelzebub was traumatized and fragile. A victim of Aziraphale’s old teacher. The one who knew the color of the eyes of God.

He thought about the sunny days when he still loved Gabriel enough to protect him from a bit of information that would have eaten at him like a cancer.

In that moment, he could not summon up any ill-will towards either of them. Not even Gabriel.

His fury at Gabriel fell away, like a heavy stone he hadn’t realized that he was carrying. He could see him for what he was--

An Archangel struggling with his own burden. A love tinged with constant denial. An Archangel who carried a huge parasol to keep himself hidden from the eyes of Heaven as he took whatever kindness that he could get from a Prince of Hell.

A Prince whose eyes remained pointed up. The parasol was on the ground, protecting nobody. They watched the empty sky.

But the angels did not watch Japan very closely. He and Crowley relied on the same laxness that Prince Beelzebub and Gabriel relied on.

Time and distance had given him perspective, and Aziraphale could see Gabriel and Beelzebub as they were. Children of God, broken and forgotten, trying to live a life without Her presence.

The same as Crowley and himself.

There is peace in forgiveness. Aziraphale felt his tension leave him. His shoulders dropped from his ears, and his fear left him. Gabriel might still mean him some harm, but given how he felt about Prince Beelzebub, one of their small hands on his chest would stop him.

The wind kicked up again, frigid evening wind. The windchimes around the temple tinkled like Prince Beelzebub’s laughter, and Aziraphale could see the ghosts of their breathing.

“Archangel, I’m cold,” Prince Beelzebub said softly.

“I’m warm,” Gabriel replied. “I’ve got you.”

Another blast of northern wind. He could see the Prince shiver against Gabriel.

“Bedtime?” Gabriel asked.

Prince Beelzebub nodded, “Yes.”

“Stay with me,” he said. There was a pleading note to it, and Gabriel’s lips found their neck.

The Prince flushed, and their eyes drooped. A cloud of hot mist escaped through the “o” of their mouth. They opened their eyes.

“Yes,” they said.

“Yes?” Gabriel asked.

Wonder frosted that word, like the frozen dew would cover the ground in the morning. The word sparkled.

“Really?” he asked.

They lifted their face to his, and he watched them find his lips in the light of the full moon. Gabriel’s heart-swelling joy crashed into Aziraphale. It felt like a wave of warm wax. The Archangel's delight infused him, leaving Aziraphale warm and replete.

They broke the kiss. “Take me to bed,” Prince Beelzebub said.

Gabriel nodded. He spun them around by their captured wrist. They gasped, startled, as he swept them up and over his shoulder. They laughed.

“Parasol,” they said. “Gabriel, the parasol.”

He grabbed it and closed it, before turning to the Goddess Suite.

The Prince on Gabriel's shoulder faced Aziraphale when he turned away. They were not smiling. Their pleading eyes found Aziraphale’s, and they laid a single slender finger over their lips.

Aziraphale nodded his understanding. He was not going to waste Prince Beelzebub’s gift to him.

Gabriel’s fingers were too sure when he withdrew his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. He was not as drunk as he seemed. Aziraphale realized that Gabriel was a tactician. He must know how most of the demons hate the cold...he must know how it clouds their judgment.

They were not yet lovers, Aziraphale felt certain of that. Gabriel was trying to build a bridge using alcohol and cold night air. The Prince seemed none the wiser, but they were a tactician, too. Maybe they would go to bed with Gabriel, and keep him from noticing Aziraphale's miracles in the vicinity. Maybe they would just put Gabriel to sleep.

Maybe they would take Gabriel’s memories, as Aziraphale had done to his precious Crowley.

Aziraphale didn’t know. He knew that he would wake Crowley. He would tell him what he’d seen, leaving out the part where the little Prince had saved them. He knew, just as he’d known standing outside of Sandalphon’s office, that some information was caustic to certain ears. The information that Crowley’s old boss was looking out for them--that was one such piece of information.

Prince Beelzebub had hushed Aziraphale after they had already secured Gabriel’s attention. They weren’t hushing Aziraphale for Gabriel’s benefit.

But for Crowley’s.

He would respect their secrets.

Crowley would agree that they ought to leave early. They got lucky today, but Gabriel and Prince Beelzebub could just as easily have been the ones to spot them. The rest of the trip would be spent avoiding the two of them, and Aziraphale would rather not do that. He knew that Crowley would rather not do that either.

Still, he hoped that the little Prince found some warmth with Gabriel. And he hoped that Gabriel found some peace. He hoped that God and Satan and Raphael and Sandalphon had not broken these two past all mending.

Love changed everything, and if the only place that they could have each other was the Earth, maybe they would help protect it?

Aziraphale did not think that was too much to hope for. He turned away from the window and took a moment to appreciate how the silvery moonlight traced Crowley’s face. Then, he went to the bed to rouse his husband.

**Author's Note:**

> For Jenael, thanks for all of your support!
> 
> I checked, it was a full moon on the 20th of April, 2019. Thanks nature, for having my back for this fic!
> 
> Dagiel is a real angel. The angel over fish! Nice how these things work out!
> 
>  _Okoba_ are REEEEALLY high _geta_ sandals that _maiko_ wear. They are designed to give the _maiko_ a mincing and delicate walk.
> 
> I can't think of anything else that would require explanation. Let me know if I missed something.
> 
> This is a continuation of the Tale of Crowns and Coins series. You might want to read the rest!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


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